


Off Limits

by Jld71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark Dean Winchester, Death, Drinking, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 20:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20645327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71
Summary: Someone hurt Sam. There’s Hell to pay for hurting his brother and Dean’s determined to make good on that promise.





	Off Limits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlindSwandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/gifts).

> Do Not Re-Post Without My Written Permission - Only To Be Posted On My AO3 Or LiveJournal Accounts.
> 
> Written for the 2019 Summergen Challenge.  
Recipient: blindswandive  
Beta: jj1564  
Author’s Notes: This prompt spoke to me, anyone hurting or threatening Sam makes Dean angry. Dangerously angry.

Dean’s hands clenched into fists as he looked down on his brother’s battered and bruised body. His eyes darkened as they flicked from one forming bruise to the other and then to a ragged cut across Sam’s left forearm, ending right below the rolled up sleeve at his elbow. He could feel his body tense with anger at seeing that. Whoever had done this to Sam, hurt him, was going to pay. He was going to inflict as much pain on them as they had on Sam, more actually, before he ended them. Human or not, they had forfeited their lives the moment they had put their hands on Sam; no one hurt his little brother and got away with it. The problem he had at the moment, was that Sam was passed out and he had no idea who had done this to him. He had found Sam unconscious when he had come out from the bar. He had needed a beer or two to take the edge off after hunting; he hadn’t been in the mood to go back to their motel room just then. Sam had opted to remain in the car, not really in the mood for dealing with the bar atmosphere. 

He took a deep breath, leaned down over Sam and raised his shirt to see the forming bruises; impressions of boot marks on Sam’s skin, most likely made from steel-toe boots. Gently he ran his hands along Sam’s flanks and then his chest and back, checking for broken ribs. He didn’t feel anything, but he knew that Sam probably had a few cracked ribs. He’d be hurting for a while just from those two bruises. Whoever had done this had kicked Sam at least twice while he had been down. Those fuckers were gonna know what it felt like to be kicked while down, he fumed to himself. As he assessed Sam’s body, he noticed the missing button from Sam’s jeans and the torn belt loops. His breath caught in his throat as his brain registered what that possibly meant. He rolled Sam onto his back and worked his boots off before undressing him. He had to know. Had someone tried to . . . force Sam? He couldn’t let his mind go there, not now. Right now he needed to care for Sam’s injuries. Once he knew that Sam was alright, then he’d find those responsible and rain down Hell on them like they had never seen. They were dead, they just didn’t know it yet.

Dean thought back to a few hours earlier, how Sam had been tired, but happy, when they had pulled into the parking lot of the local bar he had wanted to stop at. He had been a little surprised that Sam had decided to sit in the car rather than join him for beer. He stood by Sam’s closed car door, leaning down to look in at Sam through the open window. “Are you sure?” he asked as he looked over his shoulder at the bar and then turned his attention back to his brother. “It doesn’t look like it’s too jacked up in there. The parking lot’s pretty empty.” His gut was twisting with the idea of leaving Sam alone, but they were both adults and it wasn’t like they hadn’t separated before, needing space and time away from each other. 

With a smile on his lips, Sam looked up into his brother’s concerned green eyes. “I’ll be fine. My laptop’s fully charged. It’s got a battery life of up to four hours.” He smiled when he saw the glazed over look in his brother’s eyes. With a soft chuckle he shook his head. “Just go, it’s just one beer, right? Two at the most. You’ll be back before I even notice you’re gone.” He had said it as a joke but he hadn’t missed the slight look of hurt that passed over Dean’s face. “What I meant was, you’ll be back in no time,” he said, trying to soothe Dean’s hurt feelings. Dean played it off well, most people didn’t even realize when they had said something that hurt his feelings, but living with Dean meant he knew what every little twitch denoted. Dean took things to heart, but he hid his feelings. Dealing with their father had meant that they had to toughen up at an early age; his rule was you never cried and you never showed your emotions. Dean had mastered the art of pretending, of never letting anyone see his pain.

Dean raised his hand, stopping Sam from trying to explain further. He could see the anxiety in Sam’s hazel eyes and hated the idea that it was there because of him. “I get it. Relax. Like you said, one beer, two at the most and then I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me,” he said cheekily and then blew Sam a kiss before turning on his heel and heading into the bar. 

Setting his laptop aside a while later, Sam opened the car door and got out. He stood and stretched, needing to work out the kinks in his muscles. He had no idea what time it was or how long Dean had been in the bar. It couldn’t have been that long, he mused to himself, but being cramped in the Impala wasn’t doing much for his tall frame. Maybe a walk around the building and its parking lot would help, it wouldn’t hurt, that he knew. With a shake of his head, he started off on his walk. He had gotten around one side of the building, just out of sight from the bar’s entrance, when he heard a male voice.

The man eyed Sam as he rounded the corner. He pulled the cigarette from between his lips, blew a puff of smoke into the air and tossed the cigarette down, grounding it out under his foot. “Well, aren’t you a tall one? You lonely, looking for some company?” the guy asked.

Sam coughed. “Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m just taking a walk, stretching my legs after being in the car for so long,” he explained as the man took a few steps toward him. The man was shorter than he was, but the guy was heavyset, which gave him a hulking appearance. 

“I could keep you company while you take your walk,” the man offered. “I’ve got nothing to do right now. I had to take a walk myself to cool off.” He jutted his chin toward the building. “Sometimes I get a little rambunctious and they make me take a time out.” He gave a little smirk to Sam and then waited for his response.

Sam put his hands up in front of him in a placating manner. “No, I’m good, besides I’m with someone,” he said as he turned around and started to make his way back to the Impala. 

“Yeah, I don’t see anyone with you,” the guy said, stopping Sam from leaving.

Sam turned back to the guy, with a tight smile on his face. “He’s grabbing a beer and then we’re leaving.” He took another step away from the man. “He should actually be done by now and he’s probably wondering where I am. I should get back. Have a good night,” Sam said as he turned to leave.

The man came up behind Sam, grabbed him by the hair and slammed him up against the building. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart? I was trying to be nice to you,” the man hissed into Sam’s ear. Sam reared back with his elbow, catching the guy in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him for a moment. “You bitch,” the man gasped and then punched Sam in the kidney. Sam brought his boot down on the man’s foot, hoping that would distract the man so he could turn and land a few blows of his own. The move had no effect on the man. “Steel-toe,” the man said with a laugh that was cut off when Sam kicked back and connected with his shin. “You’re gonna pay for that,” the man gritted out, and before Sam had a chance to react, the man wrapped his hand in his hair and banged his head against the brick wall, stunning him. 

He let go of Sam and watched as Sam slumped down to the ground on his right side. He raised his foot and landed two blows to Sam’s left side before he crouched down and rolled Sam onto his back. He tried to work Sam’s jean’s open, tearing the button off and ripping a few of his belt loops before Sam managed to knee him in his groin. He reached out to punch Sam and his ring caught Sam’s forearm when Sam raised his arm to block the punch, leaving a jagged cut on the exposed skin. With his other hand the man managed to land one blow to Sam’s face, splitting his lip before Sam kicked him again, his foot connecting with his gut and sending him sprawling backward. Sam forced himself to his feet. He stumbled away from the side of the building and his attacker and toward the safety of the Impala. He made it to his side of the car before he crashed down to his knees. He was trying to fish his phone out of his pocket to call Dean when his vision began to swim, black spots edging in and dragging him down into unconsciousness. 

Dean drained the last of his beer and looked down at his phone to check the time. He had been in the bar nearly forty-five minutes, long enough to have two beers and unwind. He looked longingly at the pool table and the guys currently engaged in a game. He itched to walk over there and proposition them for a game, but Sam was waiting for him outside and that had him turning to leave rather than trying to hustle some locals for a few bucks. With a wave to the bartender, he placed his empty bottle on the bar and made his way to the door. With a smile on his lips, he pushed open the door and walked out to the car and Sam. He’d drive them back to their motel room and see where the night took them. 

“Sam . . .” His words died on his lips as his eyes rested on the unconscious form of his brother lying against the passengers’ side of the Impala. “Sam!” he yelled as he ran toward his brother. “Please, Sammy . . .” He dropped to his knees next to Sam’s body and felt for a pulse. He released the breath he had no idea he had been holding when he felt Sam’s weak but beating pulse. “Sam, I’ve got you,” he murmured as he reached up and pulled the back door open. As gently as he could, he picked Sam up and got him into the backseat before he got behind the wheel and tore out of the parking lot, burning rubber as he hastily drove them back to their room. He needed to assess Sam’s injuries and then figure out who he was gonna fuck up for hurting his brother. 

By the time they reached their room, Sam was drifting in and out of consciousness. Dean got the door to their room open and then went back for Sam, half carrying him, half dragging him inside. He lowered Sam onto the bed and his heart stopped beating when he heard Sam’s whimper of pain. 

“De . . . Dean,” Sam moaned in pain as he opened his eyes and searched for his brother. He had no idea where he was or who was with him.

“I’m here,” Dean answered Sam’s pain filled call and placed a protective hand on his shoulder. “Where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Sam managed to breathe out before he slipped back into unconsciousness with the knowledge that Dean was with him and he was safe. 

Dean reached into his back pocket and withdrew his knife to cut away Sam’s shirts instead of trying to jostle him out of them and then set about cleaning any open wounds he found. He said a silent prayer that the only ones he found were the ones on Sam’s forearm and forehead; no knife or bullet wounds meant that Sam didn’t need him inflicting more pain on him by having to stitch him up. Gently, he washed away the grime from Sam’s face. He had a busted lip, a small gash to his forehead and a black eye was forming over his right eye. Those injuries were nothing compared to some they had sustained during a hunt for the supernatural. He grabbed their first aid kit from his duffle bag and dug around in it until he found two butterfly bandages to cover the wound on Sam’s forehead. There was nothing he could do for the black eye or the split lip, they’d have to heal on their own.

Dean got up and rinsed out the washcloth he had grabbed from the bathroom when he had started to care for Sam’s injuries and tossed it on the bathroom counter in case he needed it again. He came back out to his brother. He looked down at his unconscious form and took several deep breaths before he reached out with shaking hands to pull of Sam’s boxer briefs. He didn’t see any tears in the fabric or any signs of sexual assault, but he needed to be sure. 

“Sammy,” he said softly and then bit his bottom lip. He didn’t like the idea of putting his hands on his brother this way, especially while he was unconscious. He felt his chest tightening as he removed the last piece of clothing and then began to inspect the rest of his body. He found scraped skin along both of Sam’s knees and a few bruises, but he couldn’t be sure they hadn’t been there before. 

As if Sam was awake, Dean began to speak to him, to try to explain what he was doing, “Sammy, I’m gonna check for . . . signs of . . .” He let his words die on his lips. His breathing was coming in gasps as he parted Sam’s legs. He didn’t see any evidence that Sam had any bruising along his pelvis. He backed away from the bed, and went into the bathroom to retrieve the facecloth. He ran it under the hot water and soaped it up before returning to the bed. “Please,” he whispered as he rolled Sam onto his right side and then with shaking hands, he parted Sam’s buttocks. He released his breath when he didn’t see any signs of sexual assault, but he knew what the goal of the attack had been. With steadier hands, he washed the areas he had touched before rolling Sam back onto his back and washed the rest of his body. He left the cut along Sam’s left arm alone, after making sure it had been cleaned. It wasn’t a deep wound, and would heal on its own with little scarring. 

When he was done, he pulled a blanket off of the second bed and covered Sam with it. He walked back into the bathroom to discard the facecloth. He stood at the sink, staring at his reflection. He had been so stupid to leave Sam alone. He should have just driven them back to their motel room instead of stopping for a beer. While he hadn’t been the one to attack Sam, he had been the reason this had happened to his brother. He felt his stomach bottom out. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and puked his guts up. When he was sure his stomach had nothing else to offer up, he flushed the toilet, brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face. He walked back into the bedroom, toed off his boots and climbed onto the bed with Sam, needing to be next to him, to watch over him in case Sam woke and needed him. 

“I’m here Sam,” he said in a soothing tone as he stroked his fingers through Sam’s soft hair. His eyes darkened in rage as he looked at his broken brother. “I’m gonna make them pay. I’m gonna rain down Hell on whoever did this to you. They’re dead, they just don’t know it yet,” he said with conviction. He moved the blanket around, making sure Sam was fully covered, he didn’t want Sam waking up cold. “I’m sorry, so sorry I failed you. This happened because of me. I won’t fail you again,” he whispered. 

For two days Sam slept as Dean watched over him, leaving him alone only long enough to use the bathroom or to grab some food from the vending machines located near the motel’s office. In that time he plotted what he would do once he found out who had attacked Sam. He was going to do to them everything they had done to Sam, minus the attempted sexual assault. He didn’t get off on forcing someone to submit sexuality, not even to inflict terror on Sam’s would-be rapist. 

Dean walked out of the bathroom to find Sam awake and attempting to sit up. “What are you doing?” he asked as Sam struggled to raise himself into a sitting position.

Wide-eyed Sam looked at Dean as he crossed the room to stand next to the bed. “Dean, I need to get up,” he rasped out and waited for Dean’s reaction. He was sure that Dean was going to fight him. To his surprise, Dean didn’t, he reached out and offered him his help.

“Come on, I’ll help you. You just gotta tell me what you need, don’t try to move on your own,” Dean murmured as he placed his hands under Sam’s arms and helped him up onto shaky legs. He felt Sam slip an arm around his neck and he snaked an arm around Sam’s waist and together they shuffled to the bathroom. 

As Sam made his way to the toilet, he looked down to find he was naked. “Dean, why am I naked?”

“What do you remember?” Dean asked and then went quiet as he waited for his brother’s answer.

“You wanted a beer. I stayed in the car,” Sam responded and then scrunched up his face as he tried to recall more from that night. With a slight shrug of his shoulders he said, “Everything after that is a little fuzzy . . . and I hurt. What did I do last night?”

“We stopped at the bar two nights ago,” Dean said as he watched his brother sink down onto the toilet. He turned away from Sam, giving him the semblance of privacy while he emptied his bladder. When he heard the flush of the toilet and the faucet being turned on and off, Dean turned back to Sam and saw him staring at him as his words sunk in. 

“Two days ago? What? What happened to me?” Sam asked as he caught his reflection in the mirror, taking in his bruises and the bandaged gash on his forehead in silent shock. “Dean, this didn’t happen on our last hunt.” He turned to look at Dean, eyes pleading for Dean to explain things to him. “I don’t understand,” he murmured more to himself than Dean.

“I found you unconscious next to the Impala. I got you back here, checked you out.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from Sam. “You didn’t have any knife or bullet wounds. It looks like you got into some kind of fight. Assholes kicked you when you were down,” he explained as he pointed to the bruises on Sam’s left side. “No broken ribs.”

Sam nodded his head in understanding and then touched the bruises on his left side, causing himself to wince in pain. He tried to take a deep breath, to breathe through the pain, but couldn’t. “Cracked but not broken,” he wheezed out.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured in agreement.

Sam turned back to his reflection to inspect his body. He saw the bandaged gash on his forehead and the bruise that had formed there along with his black eye and split lip. As he raised his left hand to bush his bangs out of the way, he noticed the cut along his forearm. He examined it before dropping his arm to look over the rest of his body, noting the scraped skin along his knees and the two bruises on his left side. Aside from that and the pain he was feeling, he was intact. He watched Dean in the mirror, saw how his brother wasn’t looking directly at him and he turned to Dean. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.

Dean’s mouth fell open. He forced himself to close it and swallowed several times as he tried to find the words to answer Sam’s question. “I had to check out your injuries, make sure you didn’t have any broken ribs or signs of internal bleeding.”

“Dean, that doesn’t explain why I’m naked,” Sam huffed out. “Tell me,” Sam said as he reached out to Dean. He could tell by the way Dean was avoiding the question he probably wasn’t going to like his answer.

“I had to make sure . . . The button on your jeans was gone and some of the belt loops were torn.” Dean watched as Sam paled and took a step back from him.

Sam felt his body sag against the counter as Dean’s words hit him with the force of their implications. He closed his eyes and reached out to steady himself as blurry images from that night began to play in his mind. “I need to . . . I need to sit down, put some pants on,” he said. He started to straighten up to his full height when he felt his stomach roil. He turned, barely managed to get the toilet lid up before was retching into the bowl. He waited until he was sure his dry heaves were over before he flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth. When he turned around, Dean was standing there with a pair of his sweatpants in hand. “Thanks,” he managed to say as he grabbed his pants and slipped them on. With Dean’s help he made it back over to the bed and wearily sat down. He felt the bed dip from Dean’s weight when he joined him.

He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to make sense of everything Dean had said and what he had started to remember. “I remember you going into the bar,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was feeling cramped in the car, so I got out to stretch my legs, take a walk. I started to walk around the building.” He took a few breaths as his memory came back to him. “Some guy stopped me. Offered to keep me company. I told him I was waiting for you and started back for the car.” He curled one leg underneath himself and began to run his fingers along the material covering his knee. “He, ah, he jumped me. Slammed me into the building. We fought, he kicked me,” he recalled with a shake of his head, confirming what Dean had guessed at by the bruises. “He tried to . . .” He shook his head vigorously. “He tried, but I kicked him. His ring cut me. I made it to the car, and I tried to get my phone out to call you.”

Hearing the panic is Sam’s voice, Dean wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed into Sam’s neck. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

Hearing Dean’s words, Sam pulled away from Dean, with a look of confusion on his face. “What do you mean it’s your fault?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t attack me.”

“No, but it was my idea to get a beer, to stop at the bar instead of coming back here,” Dean admitted. “This happened to you because of me,” he whispered as he looked away from Sam.

“That’s bullshit!” Sam spat out. 

“It’s still the truth,” Dean muttered.

“Your version, not mine. The truth is some guy didn’t want to take no for an answer,” Sam reasoned and then glanced over at Dean. He saw the frown on his brother’s face and it was all he could do not to hug Dean. He opted for knocking his shoulder against Dean’s instead, knowing that right now Dean was wallowing in self-loathing. 

Slowly, Dean turned to regard Sam and saw him looking at him. He had expected to see anger, even hatred on Sam’s face, instead he saw love, and he loved Sam with all his heart, there was no getting around that, even if he felt he didn’t deserve Sam’s love. “How many?” 

Sam scrunched his face up in confusion. “How many?” he repeated.

“How many were there that attacked you? One, two?” Dean questioned.

A look of understanding crossed Sam’s face. “I think just one, I don’t remember all the details, but I’m pretty sure there was only one guy.”

“Did you get a name? Would you remember the guy? Did he . . .” Dean couldn’t get the rest of the words past his lips.

Sam placed a hand over Dean’s. “No, he didn’t. I didn’t get a name and I might remember him, if I saw him again.”

With a shake of his head, Dean dropped the subject. He wasn’t going to push any further at his brother to get answers. He heard Sam’s stomach growl and he smirked at him.

“Shut up, I’ve been out of it for two days,” Sam groused.

“Diner doesn’t open for another three hours. Try to get some more rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time. We’ll get some food in you and then you can come back and rest, look over the headlines to see if there’s anything else in the area that needs our attention.”

“Sure,” Sam responded as he started to get comfortable on the bed. “But, you’re gonna get some rest, too,” he said as he pointed to the other bed and waited for Dean to lie down. 

Not wanting to fight with Sam, Dean did as Sam had requested. As he lay there, he heard Sam’s soft sigh of contentment and allowed himself to close his eyes for the first time since he had found Sam unconscious. 

Three hours later, Dean opened his eyes to find Sam staring at him. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you. These past two days, you never slept, did you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement to his brother. Sam watched as Dean nodded his head. He was about to make a joke about Dean playing nursemaid when his stomach loudly protested against being empty. His eyes shot down to his stomach and then back up at Dean when he heard Dean snorting at him.

With a shake of his head, Dean rolled away from Sam, sat up and then stood up from the bed. “I’m gonna go grab a shower,” he called over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Sam entered the bathroom, stepped out of his sweats and into the shower. It wasn’t the first time either of them had seen the other naked, and he knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

Sam pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped in. He smirked as green eyes regarded him in shock. “What? I needed a shower, too, and you won’t have to fret over me being alone in the shower in my weakened condition.” He didn’t miss Dean rolling his eyes at him.

“Who the fuck says ‘fret’, aside from you?”

“Well, you just did,” Sam shot back and heard Dean groan. “Here, wash my hair while I try to keep the water away from my forehead,” he said as he handed Dean the shampoo.

“Your wish is my command,” Dean replied drolly as he began to wet and then lather Sam’s hair. 

“Come on princess, I thought you were starving,” Dean called out to his brother as he paced the room. He was now dressed and ready to go, waiting for Sam.

“I’m almost done,” Sam huffed out from the bathroom as he did his best to cover the bandages on his forehead. The split lip and black eye were a lost cause, there was no way he could cover those up. “Ready,” he said as he stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket.

“Finally,” Dean quipped with a roll of his eyes as he pulled open their motel door. 

They sat in comfortable silence eating their breakfast when the clatter of Sam’s fork hitting his plate drew Dean’s attention. He looked up from his plate, concern for his brother written on his face. He watched as the color drained from Sam’s face, and his hazel eyes widened in fear. “Sam?” 

Sam had started to shake and dropped his fork onto his plate as his head snapped up at the sound of two men speaking as they entered the diner. The color drained from his face as he made eye contact with one of the men and then he flinched when the man smirked at him. 

Dean turned in his seat to glance over his shoulder at what had caught Sam’s attention. He watched as one of the men smirked at Sam and blew him a kiss. The other man looked over at them and then to his friend in confusion. Dean curled his hands into fists and then forced himself to turn away before he did something stupid. He didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself or Sam while they were in the diner. Turning back to Sam he picked up his own fork. “Is he the guy?” he asked in a quiet tone, belying the rage coursing through his body. 

Sam visibly swallowed several times before he answered Dean. “Ye . . . yeah,” he stuttered out, not meeting Dean’s eyes as he felt shame wash over him. He had fought back and nothing had happened sexually, but it had been close, too close for comfort and he had the bruises to prove it. He inhaled sharply and winced at the pain. His ribs were bruised in places and probably cracked in others, but at least they weren’t broken. Both he and Dean had suffered their share of broken ribs during hunts and they knew when one of them was dealing with a broken rib. 

Dean watched as pain etched into Sam’s features and waited for it to subside before he reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s arm, waiting for Sam to look at him. When Sam finally did, he saw pain reflected in his hazel eyes. He gave Sam a tight smile. “What about the other guy? Was he involved?”

Slowly Sam shook his head, causing his bangs to fall into his eyes, making him look even more vulnerable to Dean, and his eyes flicked onto the bandaged wound gracing his forehead and his black eye before they moved down to take in Sam’s split lip. “No, I never saw anyone else, He was alone,” he stated and watched as Dean’s hands curled into fists. “Dean,” he started to say and then was cut off by Dean when he pulled away.

“Nothing to worry about. Finish eating your eggs,” Dean responded as he uncurled his hands, picked up his fork and began to eat the last of his pancakes. 

When they had finished eating and had paid their bill, Dean started to usher Sam out of the diner. He kept his hand on the small of Sam’s back, hoping this would help keep Sam calm and grounded. He made eye contact with the guy as they passed his booth. He heard the guy’s friend question him.

“Do you know them?”

“Not really. I met the taller one the other night. He’s kind of a wannabe slut, tried to offer himself to me,” the guy said and then cackled. 

Dean felt Sam flinch at the words. He had to keep himself focused on Sam, on getting Sam out of there before he turned around, drew his gun and leveled it at the guy’s head. He wanted to see the man’s smirk fall from his face in fear. He wanted him to know that Sam was loved, that he mattered to someone and that he was gonna make him pay for hurting Sam.

Dean had watched the man, Brian as he learned from breaking into his single-story home, for two days, giving Sam time to heal before they headed out of town. Once Sam was able to function, to ride in the car without too much pain, he had moved them out of their motel room and to another town over fifty miles away. He didn’t want anyone to notice that they were still in town when he paid a visit to Sam’s attacker. 

Brian lived alone, and had no family to speak of. He had a few friends and held a job at the local factory. He wasn’t someone who was influential in the community or well-known, aside from the fights he caused at the bar when he had had too much to drink. No one would raise an eyebrow or come after him when he exacted his revenge on the guy for hurting Sam. 

Dean rummaged through his duffle bag until he found what he was looking for, the bottle of pills he knew would knock Sam out for several hours, giving him the ability to slip in and out of their motel room without Sam knowing what he was up to until after he had done it. If Sam knew what he had been planning, he would only try to stop him. He opened the bottle, dumped out two pills before tossing the capped bottle back into his bag. He grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchenette and brought it over to Sam. “Here, take these, they’ll help with the pain,” he said as he offered the water and pills to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam replied as he accepted the offered pills and water. He opened the water, popped the pills into his mouth, brought the water bottle to his lips and took a long sip from it. He capped the bottle and placed it on the nightstand before curling up on the bed. He listened to Dean’s movements as he maneuvered around the room.

Dean looked over at Sam. “You cold?” he asked as he grabbed the blanket from the edge of the bed and covered Sam with it. He heard Sam murmur ‘Thanks’ in a sleepy voice and knew the pills were doing their job. 

Dean parked the Impala two streets away from his target’s home. The street was lined with cars, and his being parked there wouldn’t rouse suspicion. He grabbed the only thing he needed from the trunk - a backpack containing a length of sturdy rope and gloves - which he slung over his shoulder - and started down the street as if he was out for a little nighttime stroll. He weaved in and out of backyards until he made his way to the backdoor of the home he intended to break into.

As he made his way to the backdoor, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on. He was angry, but not stupid. There was no way he was leaving his fingerprints on anything he touched. He reached out with a gloved hand and tested the handle; to his surprise, the door swung open. “Idiot,” Dean murmured as he pushed open the door and walked inside, kicking the door closed behind himself. He methodically searched the house, making sure it was empty before he settled in to wait for Brian to make his way home. 

From the shadows Dean watched as Brian entered his home from the back door that led directly into the kitchen and tossed his keys down onto the kitchen counter. “Fuck, what a long day,” Brian muttered to himself as he reached out to flick on the kitchen light.

“It’s about to get a lot worse for you,” Dean responded coldly as he stepped out of the shadows holding his gun in his right hand. He watched as the man spun around to confront him. With a humorless smile on his face, Dean raised his arm and brought it down, hitting Brian in the face with the butt of his gun. He watched as the man crumpled to the floor. With a satisfied smile on his lips, he looked down at the unconscious man. “Yeah, it’s gonna get a lot worse for you.”

When he was sure that Brian was unconscious, he stashed his gun in the waistband of his jeans before he returned to the shadows to grab the backpack and pull out the rope. He secured the man’s hands, making sure there was no way for him to get his hands free before he cut the excess off with the knife he kept hidden in his jacket, and secured his feet with it. When he was satisfied that the man wasn’t getting out of his bonds, he grabbed a glass that had been left out, filled it with water and doused the man with it. Dean watched as he came to, sputtering in shock.

Angrily, Dean eyed the man he had tied up on the floor. He watched as he thrashed in his bonds, knowing there was no way he was getting loose. Not even a supernatural creature could get out of his bindings and the person he had tied up on the floor was only human. He looked down on the man and watched as he turned his wide terrified eyes up at him.

“Who are you? Take whatever you want, just let me go,” the man pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean gritted out from behind clenched teeth. 

“What do you want?” Brian asked.

“What do I want? Who am I?” Dean mimicked. Dean crouched down so he was able to lock eyes with Brian. “Take what I want?” Dean chuckled darkly. “Oh, I will,” he withdrew his knife and held it out so that Brian could see it. “Don’t hurt you? Sorry, I can’t promise you that.” He smirked when he heard Brian gasp. “Let me explain some things to you. You put your hands on someone I love and you hurt him. I can’t just let that slide. He was just stretching his legs, he was polite to you when he turned you down.” He watched as Brian tried to interrupt him and he tapped the flat of his blade on his lips, stopping him from speaking. “Don’t be rude, I’m speaking. He was polite, I know he was, because he’s always polite. You didn’t want to take no for an answer, did you? So you jumped him, thought you could take what you wanted from him.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” Brian pleaded. He shook his head vigorously. “No . . . nothing happened. It was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry? Were you sorry when you slammed him face-first into the building?” Dean asked as he twisted his fingers in Brian’s hair, pulled his head back and then slammed his head into the floor. He let go of Brian and watched as Brian glared up at him. A smile spread across his face as he noted Brain’s split lip and the small gash to his forehead, mirroring the wounds Sam had. He sat on his haunches, satisfied in the knowledge that he would also have a black eye forming as well.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brian screamed. “So, I tried to get with your man. Big deal, it happens every day. So, I got a little rough, it won’t happen again.”

Dean nodded his head and smirked at the man, not bothering to correct the assumption that he and Sam were anything more than brothers, it wasn’t the first time they had encountered someone who thought they were more than what they were, family. “We’re both in agreement there. You’re right, it won’t happen again,” Dean acknowledged as he stood to his full height, drew back his right leg and kicked Brian twice, matching the two bruises he had left Sam with. He heard Brain cough and curse from the pain. “Sucks when someone kicks you when you’re down, when you can’t defend yourself.”

“Let me fucking go!” Brian screamed as he struggled to get lose from the rope binding his hands and feet. 

“I’ve already told you, that’s not gonna happen,” Dean responded as he looked down on the tied man. 

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“What do I want? I want you to pay for putting your hands on Sam, for hurting him. You had no right to do that,” Dean gritted out. 

Brian tried to kick his legs, hoping to connect with Dean’s and knock him off balance. Dean saw the kick coming and sidestepped it. “What, your little bitch go running back to you? Did he tell you some story about how I attacked him? He came on to me! I was just defending myself. Maybe you should keep a tighter leash on him.”

Hearing the lies coming from Brian’s lips, Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Right and you think I’m going to believe you over him? I’ve known Sam his entire life, he’s my brother you .” He crouched down again so he was able to look Brian in the eyes. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“He wanted it, wanted me. He couldn’t keep it in his pants, he was so fucking hot for me!” Brian screamed defiantly. “He asked for it . . .” 

Dean’s rage bubbled up to the surface at hearing the lies that were being spewed about Sam, erasing all of his reasoning. He had to make the lies stop, he had to shut Brian up.

Whatever else he was about to say was lost as Dean raised his knife and then plunged it into his throat. He watched as Brian’s eyes opened wide in shock, his lips parting in a silent cry as his life’s blood pooled on the floor underneath him. With a grunt, Dean pulled his knife free and wiped the blood off on the dead man’s shirt. He stood to his full height and stared down at Brian’s body. He hadn’t been sure of what he was going to do to the man, aside from inflicting some well deserved pain on him, but when he had started in with his lies, the decision had been made. His instinct to keep Sam safe had taken over, and the need to eliminate the threat to Sam had been too great to fight against. Backing away from the corpse, he turned and walked to the sink where he washed the residual blood from his knife before stashing it back in his jacket. 

He returned to the body, grabbed it by its bound arms and dragged it into the living room. He wrestled the corpse onto the couch and patted it down until he found what he was looking for - cigarettes and matches - and tossed them down on the couch. He withdrew his knife and cut the rope, not wanting to leave the corpse tied up in case his plan to dispose of it didn’t work.

“You’re a drinker, so you’ve got to have some alcohol around,” Dean said aloud as he walked into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator and was met with a shelf filled with beer. “Yahtzee!” he called out as he grabbed several cans, returning to the body with them. He opened them and began to pour the alcohol over the body, making sure it was drenched in the liquid. He left the empty cans strewn around the area and then reached for the pack of cigarettes and matches. “Drunks fall asleep smoking all the time and end up burning to death. I doubt anyone will miss you, let alone really investigate your death,” he said as he placed a cigarette between the corpse’s lips. “Nearly forgot,” he said as he walked back into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets until he found a box of salt. He returned to the living room and poured the contents over the body, letting the box fall onto the couch as he reached for the matches. “Well, smoke ‘em if you got ‘em,” he laughed out as he lit the cigarette. He threw the burning match down onto the corpse and watched as the flame ignited the alcohol. Slowly he backed out into the kitchen, not wanting to leave until he was sure the body had been engulfed in the fire. When he was, he grabbed the backpack and left the way he had entered the house. 

Sam’s eyes focused on the muted TV and the upcoming news story in the diner they were sitting in. They had stopped in for breakfast at Dean’s insistence, stating Sam needed to eat more so he healed faster. Dean had been with him the entire night, or so he had thought. He couldn’t remember much, aside from the surprising softness of the bed, and the painkillers that Dean had given him. His eyes went round when things started to click into place as the image of a house fire flashed across the screen followed by the report of a single fatality - the owner of the house, his attacker. Slowly he pulled his attention away from the TV and focused it on Dean. “Dean, what did you do?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Dean’s eyes ticked from the TV and then to Sam. He saw the look of concern on Sam’s face. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he responded as he picked up his coffee and took a sip. “He hurt you and he had to pay for that,” Dean said in a quiet tone as he placed his cup down on the table.

Sam waited for Dean to place his cup back on the table before he reached over and grabbed Dean’s hands, holding them in his larger ones. He didn’t need to hear any more, he knew what Dean had done and he knew Dean had done it for him. “Thank you, for what you did for me, and for making sure the bastard won’t hurt anyone else.” He took a deep breath, waiting for his panic to kick in at Deans recklessness, but all he felt was love as he held Dean’s hands and looked at his brother. How messed up was that? But before he thought too deeply on the matter, he reminded himself that this was Dean; his brother took risks, sometimes he did the unthinkable in order to protect the ones he loved. “I love you,” he said and then squeezed Dean’s hands to emphasize his words not caring that the heartfelt moment would most likely make Dean cringe. 

Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes. He expected to see fear, anger or even disgust, not what was reflected in those hazel eyes directed at him. He was taken aback for a moment at seeing Sam’s eyes full of love looking at him. Then Sam’s words registered in his brain. A smile played over his lips as he tried to find the right words to say to Sam. The only ones he needed to say were, “I love you, too,” knowing that Sam needed to hear that rather than some smartass remark from his brother. He watched as a dimpled smile spread across Sam’s face and he found himself returning the smile with his own. “You about done?” Dean asked as he eyed Sam’s nearly empty plate.

“Yeah, let’s get outta here, put some distance between us and the bad memories,” Sam responded as he slid out of his seat.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean replied as he led the way out of the diner and to the Impala. The situation had been dealt with and he still had Sam’s love. That was all that mattered, he thought to himself as he pulled the car onto the highway. He heard Sam murmuring to him. 

“Don’t even think about drugging me ever again. Two can play at that game. You won’t like what I do to your coffee, it’ll be so much worse than the time I superglued your hand to your beer bottle,” Sam said in a sleepy voice 

He chuckled. “Okay, I promise, I won’t. Get some more sleep,” he said softly as Sam rested his head against the window like he did every time he needed to sleep. He had everything he wanted, and there was nothing else he needed. Sam was safe and that was all that mattered to him.


End file.
